


Dreaming...Torchbugs. Overturned jar.

by bohemiantea



Category: Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Angst, Clockwork City DLC spoilers, Existential Angst, F/F, Pining, post-Planemeld defeat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22429975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bohemiantea/pseuds/bohemiantea
Summary: The Vestige reflects on what choosing to save Luciana Pullo really means to her.(Self-indulgent, possibly incoherent to anyone but me. I tied in the underlying lore of what it means to be the Prisoner in ESO: losing and regaining one's soul, and thanks to Mannimarco, Molag Bal, and the Prophet, being effectively immortal. Also, that shift where Luciana goes from being a bitter but loyal follower and friend to near-worship of Sotha Sil broke my heart. I was also fascinated with the "dreaming" tidbits from the factotums and discovered a lorebook that theorizes they're pieces of Sotha Nall's memories.)
Relationships: Female Vestige/Proctor Luciana Pullo
Kudos: 6





	Dreaming...Torchbugs. Overturned jar.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for re-using some game dialogue and game lore text, but it worked and explains context fairly concisely.

_“Sotha Sil said I would shine a light one day…”_ Proctor Luciana Pullo’s voice shook. The same voice had never wavered in its acerbic observations or convictions. Had admonished against looking for warmth from the Clockwork God with all the certainty of direct knowledge. Had little trust, less hope, and no faith in He who had salvaged her wounded body and neglected her soul.

She had discarded her journal, and thus it had been easy to find and read.

_“I’m not sure why I’m writing this. I kept this journal for Marius’s benefit, but he’s gone now. Twenty years gone. Time supposedly makes things easier—dulls the pain. But my grief is deeper now than it’s ever been.”_

It was difficult to connect with the loss of a son, particularly because the one who had saved him once before would not lift Himself from his throne nor tell you anything but “sorry.” The loss of a soul takes away most of the memories that might still tether one to Nirn. Restoration, shard by shard by god, is painful and fragmentary. There are burning holes and burning existential questions, and answers are fleeting and few. Like torchbugs.

But it was not difficult to imagine, or to dream. Even imitations of dreaming were available to Lord Seht’s factotums. Ask one a burning question, and it would retreat into its thoughts to find an answer. _“Dreaming… Raindrops on glass. Wood smoke.”_

One does not fight wars against mer or Daedric princes without experiencing loss along the way. There are still dreams of Razum-dar, of Darien, of the hundreds of choices made weighed against finding even one stolen and beloved face. A need so great it is compulsion. A shackle.

_“Why do you keep calling me the Prisoner?”  
_

_“A fool’s hope, perhaps.”_ He speaks of chains of causality and His inability to see the doors of His prison. That those who can may free themselves. A paradox, as one who is free is no longer a Prisoner, but Divayth Fyr did say Sotha Sil was full of such.

Luciana’s scarred face now also bears the marks of recent struggle against Nocturnal. A face deserving of much more than the aloof affections of a Clockwork God who saved her less for the memory of a lost sister (more _memento mori_ than memorialized in every dreaming voice in this brass city) and more for how she would shine a light.

Not a face stolen from me, but beloved all the same. Because of the bad temper. Because of the impatience. It is easy to love a memory. it is work to make a new one.

_“Everything built to this. Everything. Every battle… every sorrow.”_ Luciana, finding faith in her healing. My heart is pounding at my chest.

It’s too much work right now.

“I hope you find your door.” As I am finding one now.

The medic continues its work, looking for an answer to a question I did not pose. _“Dreaming… Torchbugs. Overturned jar.”_


End file.
